


Focus Potion

by fwooshy



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Boats and Ships, Happy Ending, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Italy, M/M, Post-War, Touch-Starved, Touching, Trauma, basically what counts as taking a vacation during covid, the sea and the sun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:00:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25821031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fwooshy/pseuds/fwooshy
Summary: Harry needed a potion. One that would help him focus.Instead, he found Draco in Vernazza, under the sun and on the sea.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 19
Kudos: 95





	Focus Potion

When Harry found Draco, he first noticed that he had grown out his hair in the fashion of his late father’s; perhaps in tribute. Regardless of motive, where his father’s hair had hung from his scalp stiff and lifeless as though in rigor mortis, Draco’s long hair was pulled in a lively knot at his nape. Loose strands escaped their ties to curl around Draco’s face and drape on his shoulders, softening his features in a way so that they beckoned to be touched.

That was what Harry had come to realize over the years, anyway. When Harry first found Draco, all he saw was the long hair, and what he saw in his long hair was Lucius Malfoy. So Harry had pressed his mouth into a thin line and only said what he absolutely needed to say. Harry needed a potion, he said. One that would help him focus.

He left as soon as he could, and took the short way back to Ginny. They had arrived at Vernazza last night by Portkey and expected to stay three more before embarking on to the next leg of their romantic honeymoon on the continent. It was Harry’s first proper holiday so he was a bit anxious and eager to get back to Ginny. He hoped she could teach him how to act like a normal person and relax. Hermione had said he needed that. He needed to relax.

When he got back he found Ginny reading a book. It was one of those hardback ones with a fetching cover of illustrated flowers and scripted golden text. He thought it complimented her because they both looked beautiful as she sat out on the balcony with the sun glowing on her skin and the sea behind her.

He waited for her to finish the paragraph and put down the book before he said, “I found Draco Malfoy.”

“You found him,” she said with more wariness than he had anticipated. “I wasn’t aware that we were looking for him.”

“Yes. Well.” Harry stopped to carefully consider his words. Ginny had not liked what she called his “fixation with the war, it was not healthy, not for him or anyone around him”, and Draco Malfoy would absolutely fit in her and Hermione’s category of “fixation with the war”. So he thought a while longer, and decided that when he set out today, he hadn’t actually been looking for Draco. He had been looking for a potion, to help him focus.

So he told her, “No, I wasn’t, I suppose. I was looking for a potion, and there’s only one apothecary in town, and Malfoy happened to be running it. So you could say that I ran into him more than I found him.”

“And what did he do, while you were there?”

Harry considered the way Draco’s cool grey eyes had reminded him of the same grey of the tiles in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, the way his polite “What can I do for you?” had echoed Narcissa when she had asked him in the Forbidden Forest if Draco was still alive. But Harry knew that that was the wrong answer, because he knew he’d hurt Ginny if he talked about the war. And Draco hadn’t done anything, really, except sell him a potion.

“Nothing, really,” he said earnestly.

“Then why are you telling me about nothing?

Because Harry thought Ginny would want to know what Draco Malfoy was doing these days, because Harry always wanted to know. But he realized now that that was silly of him, because the war ended for Ginny the second they had left Fred’s memorial service. She didn’t have all these loose ends to tie up, not like Harry did, and especially not with the way Draco Malfoy had gone on a grand forgiveness tour after his trials ended, and then had disappeared after that.

Hermione liked to say that Draco had gotten out of their way to happiness whenever Harry would wonder out loud where Draco was up to these days. She said that they all deserved to move on, and that they should be grateful for Draco for making it so easy on them. So Harry had tried to stop wondering out loud where Draco had gone.

Plus, he really didn’t want to hurt anyone anymore. So he forcibly unclenched his jaw. “Tell me something else then,” he prompted Ginny, and felt his shoulders relax when she stopped asking questions and smiled at him instead.

“Let’s go and find some panna cotta,” she said.

***

They must have found panna cotta eventually, because they tumbled into bed together later that night. Ginny fell asleep after, and as Harry laid in bed awake next to her, he felt proud that he could help Ginny sleep so easily tonight.

He tried to think back to the dinner they had eaten tonight. Ginny had chosen the place, like she always did. She had said it tasted divine, but Harry couldn’t remember what it had tasted like, or what shape the pasta had been, or what sauce had been on it. He couldn’t even remember the table they had sat at, or how’d they gotten there. For a wild moment he thought maybe he had imagined eating entirely, but no - his stomach was pleasantly full, and Ginny was happy with him. And he remembered the feeling of sitting on a hard chair under an umbrella on the side of the street, looking for Draco.

He was always looking for someone. Sometimes for Draco, for Hedwig, for Dobby, for Sirius. For Dumbledore. Sometimes even for Snape. He’d gotten remarkably good at faking eye contact. He’d charmed his glasses that way, to enhance his peripheral vision. He had told them it was necessary for his Auror work, but that had been a lie. He was starting to get good at lying, too. But mostly he’d just gotten better at omission.

What he hadn’t gotten better at was not thinking about the war. That was what Ginny was supposed to help him with. But Ginny was asleep, so all he had was the potion. The one that helped him focus.

He shifted off the bed to get it. He downed it all at once and then turned to look at Ginny. He tried to focus on Ginny’s delicate wrists, but that just reminded him of the soft underside of Draco’s milky white wrists, and the Dark Mark that laid a few inches beneath them. So instead he steadied his focus on Ginny’s red hair, a deep maroon in the moonlight, and it helped him just enough to slip into sleep.

***

Harry’s marriage lasted six more years.

Harry wasn’t exactly sure what caused it to end, but he knew that it was his fault.

“I’m just glad I didn’t give in to you when you wanted children,” she said bitterly.

“Maybe we would be still together if we had children,” Harry countered. He hated how easy it was to decouple their lives together. She already had a flat in Wales where she spent most of the week playing for the Holyhead Harpies, so all she took from their London flat was a single carry-on suitcase. He hated that suitcase. He hated that it was Gryffindor red, like her hair, like most of his things.

She yelled at him then. She called him selfish. She accused him of never really loving her. She shouted at him loud enough so that even if Harry couldn’t recall exactly what she said he was sure he would have it quoted back at him by the Prophet tomorrow morning. And yet even as she screamed she still looked at him as though she pitied his whole existence, and Harry had hated that even more than her rage, so he had roared for her to get the fuck out, so she did - dragging her suitcase past the door frame and Apparating away.

And then Harry had been entirely alone, in their London apartment, not needing to replace anything except her, at the kitchen, on the sofa, in his bed.

By then Harry was twenty-nine.

Twenty-nine was young, Hermione said. Even by Muggle standards, he was still young. Too young to give up.

“Do you still feel young?” Harry asked her. She was sitting on the stool across from him on his kitchen counter, looking very pregnant with her second child in her bright blue lazy Sunday Weasley-clan jumper. She didn’t seem young to him. She was already the Deputy Head of the DMLE, and she was already a mother.

He had fixed her a cup of ginger tea earlier, and she took a sip of it now. “I guess I’ve never wanted to feel young,” she said after a while. “I’ve always only wanted to go out and make things happen. But that doesn’t mean I feel old, either. I just feel alive, I suppose. I feel like I’m getting what I want, and I want more, every day.”

Harry couldn’t relate. He never wanted anything. No, that wasn’t quite right. He knew he wanted to be useful. But lately, he wasn’t useful to anyone. So instead, he asked about Ron. Harry hadn’t been seeing much of Ron lately, because of Ginny.

“He wanted me to tell you that he just needs some time, and that he feels bad about it,” Hermione said.

“He shouldn’t,” Harry said, because Ron feeling bad about Harry’s latest failure at life was the last thing he wanted.

Hermione talked a bit more about Ron and the new R&D he was doing with George these days. It distracted Harry for a while, but thinking about George always made him think of Fred, and then there he was again, lost in a decade-past war that was the root of all his problems these days.

“What are you going to do while on leave?” Hermione asked, her question dragging him back to the present. He had been granted leave starting Monday. Hermione had suggested it, and she was more than willing to fill in for him, as his deputy.

Harry shrugged. Officially his leave was for no more than a month, but more and more Harry thought that if he just disappeared it would make things a lot easier for everyone. Hermione was more than capable of doing his job for him, so he might as well get out of her way.

Privately, he thought he might go back to Italy.

***

Harry paced on the cobblestones outside the apothecary wasting time wondering what happened to his Gryffindor bravado, before he decided to fuck it, and shoved in. His entry was so rowdy the door chime nearly flew off, but Draco was still there, standing behind the cash register, looking utterly bewildered for a precious second before his face smoothed over again.

“Malfoy,” Harry said.

“How can I -”

“MALFOY!” Harry bellowed. “Don’t bloody pretend you don’t know me.”

“I -, yes, Pot - Harry,” he acquiesced.

Harry recalled then how Draco insisted during his grand forgiveness tour that everyone call him by his first name, and how many - Hermione included - insisted that he do the same for them. “Won’t do him any good to be associated with the Malfoy name anymore, I reckon,” Ron had snarked, to which Hermione had said, “I think it’s good that he’s trying to move on,” and had given Harry a pointed look.

Harry decided to bugger moving on. So he said, “Don’t call me Harry.”

“Potter, then,” Draco said, looking away from Harry.

“What, you’re just going to back down like that?” Harry taunted.

Draco took several deep breaths, before saying in a perfectly controlled voice - “I don’t want to fight with you.”

“Don’t tell me you’ve moved on.”

“I-”

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten about the war.”

“No-”

“Do you think that you, of all people, deserve to move on, to forget -”

“I haven’t forgotten!” Draco shouted. “Just - shut up! Shut up, okay. I haven’t forgotten. How can you say that? Just - shut up. Don’t say shit you don’t understand. You can’t just barge in like this and -” he let out a shuddering breath - “Just leave me alone, can you.”

Harry quieted then. He took in the pink on Draco’s cheeks, the disgusting spittle that collected in the corner of his mouth whenever he was mad enough to yell.

Harry suppressed his glee. Draco had finally reacted.

“I was here about six years ago,” Harry said.

“I remember,” Draco said softly. “I’ve been wondering when you’d show up again.”

“How often? How often have you wondered.”

Draco met him with those haunted eyes that never failed to remind Harry of sixth year all over again. “Every day,” he confessed.

“Good,” Harry said. And then he stormed out.

“Potter -” he heard Draco shout as he slammed open the door. “Potter - I’m sorry. I’m still sorry. I’ll always be sorry.”

Harry looked over his shoulder back at Draco. Draco seemed to shrink back into the wall of potions behind him, his face a mess of fear. Harry realized Draco was afraid of him. He realized that he liked it, liked that Draco was afraid of him. And then he hated himself all over again.

“You made me this way,” Harry accused.

“Which way?” Draco asked, pale and wide-eyed.

“THIS WAY!” Harry roared, chest heaving. He had thought it was obvious. He had thought everyone knew what a pitious deformity the Boy-Who-Lived had become in the last decade, trapped in the past like a half-formed babe, unable to move on to the world of the living.

“Okay,” Draco’s voice said softly. “Okay, that’s fine. Do you want me to take responsibility? I’ll take responsibility. I’ll do it. I made you this way. It’s my fault.”

Harry’s throat clenched as though he was crying, but no tears came. When his breath finally steadied his voice came out like gravel. “Just fix it,” he said. “Just fix me. Then I’ll forgive you.”

“Okay. I can do that,” Draco agreed hoarsely. He put away the logbook he had been writing in. He locked up the backroom, the cabinets behind him.

“Let’s go, then,” Draco said, taking his coat and opening the door. Harry followed him out.

***

Draco took them back to his kitchen, where he made Harry a cup of chamomile with a drop of Calming Draught. Harry drank it, scraping at the delicate gold trim of the fine bone china, before putting it back down on the saucer and taking in the rest of the kitchen.

The walls had been painted a light robin’s egg blue, the cabinets white with floral detailing. One entire wall of the kitchen opened out to an expansive balcony of pink and orange pansies, and beyond them, the sea. Harry couldn’t picture Draco taking tea out on the balcony, but there was a small table set out there, and an open book.

“Last time you were here, you bought a Focus Potion. Why?” Draco asked as though it hadn’t been a full six years since he last saw Harry.

“None of your business.”

“I need to know, so I can know how to fix you,” Draco said. His voice was tight, but he kept the anger off his face.

Harry winced, but he didn’t apologize. “I needed help focusing.” Harry felt the Calming Draught kicking in then, so he relaxed into it, continuing. “I have trouble focusing. Sometimes I forget what I’m doing. Like I’d go out and have drinks and then I’d get home fine, but the next day I’ve no idea where I’d went or who I’d went with.”

“So you’re having short term memory issues,” Draco inferred. “That’s a common side effect of many potions. I’ll need to know what else you’re -”

“NO.” Harry slammed the table. “That’s not it. It’s focusing. I can’t focus. If I focus on the conversation, I’ll remember it. If I focus on the tablecloth or whatever, I’ll remember it. But sometimes, I can’t focus. I just can’t focus.”

“Are you focusing now?”

“Yes.” 

Harry was focusing right now on the white linen button down Draco was wearing, the way it was just sheer enough for Harry to see the outline of his Dark Mark underneath. On Draco’s left middle finger was a thick, heavy ring of the Black family crest. He was still pale, his face still gaunt. If you asked Harry tomorrow what he remembered he could tell you all this and more. He could tell you exactly how many tins of tea Draco had in his cabinets still bore the Malfoy crest, he could tell you exactly how much Draco hadn’t changed at all except for that damned soft hair that curled in a loose knot at his nape and made Harry doubt.

“So then, what’s different?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said, “I’m tired. I want to sleep now.”

Draco made up a bed for him in his spare room. Harry knew from the black daffodil embroidery framed above the bed that this must be the room that Narcissa stayed in when she visited. So it was only natural that that night he dreamt of the Forbidden Forest again. Narcissa loomed over him, her near-white hair flowing around her face, spiraling down toward Harry. Except when he looked into her eyes this time, he saw Draco.

***

The next day Draco woke him with the smell of breakfast in the kitchen. “I need to gather kelp this morning. Do you want to come?” he asked after he had handed Harry his espresso.

“Okay,” Harry agreed, “Let me wash up first.”

Harry brushed his teeth in the shower. He put on a clean Chudley Cannons shirt and a pair of khaki shorts and met Draco back in the kitchen. Draco gave him a one-over but didn’t comment as they walked down the cobblestone streets together to Draco’s boat on the dock. Harry watched Draco raise the anchor, his white sleeves rolled up to his forearms, Dark Mark marred on his milky white forearms like a bruise, and cautiously motored them out from shore.

“Did you put on sun protection charms?” Draco asked maybe an hour later. He handed Harry a glass and conjured it full of water. A net of harvested kelp dried on the bow of the boat. 

“Don’t need it. I’m half Indian. I’ve never gotten a sunburn before,” Harry said. Harry grabbed the glass and took a long pull. He didn’t remember Draco collecting the kelp. He had forgotten to focus. Ah, it didn’t matter, he thought.

“Lucky,” Draco muttered. His mouth quirked into the smallest of smiles, but Harry had caught it. Focused on it. It made him feel warm. Or maybe it was the sun. It really was a nice day. He didn’t remember it being this nice his first time.

“What’re you going to do with all that?” Harry gestured toward the kelp.

“I have an idea for a potion,” Draco said. “The Focus Potion is my invention, actually. So I figure I can tinker with it.”

Harry didn’t know that, but now that he did, he couldn’t help but be impressed. The Focus Potion was a top seller at most apothecaries these days. “That’s awesome,” he praised. “Luna says her students live on it during finals.”

“I didn’t actually intend for it to be used by students as a study aide,” Draco said a bit sourly.

“What did you want it to be used for, then?”

Draco paused and bit his lip, as though trying to calculate how much to say. When he spoke again, he was carefully casual. “I brewed it for my father. He couldn’t focus either. I think it helped a bit… but I couldn’t get the potion right in time. After he passed I stopped trying.” Draco’s eyes met Harry’s and looked right through him. “I’m going to try again,” he vowed.

Harry suddenly felt sick. He barely made it to the side of the boat before he puked. When he came back Draco was still sitting where he had sat before. He didn’t question how Harry felt. He didn’t launch an investigation over what had made Harry puked. He didn’t even offer Harry any water.

Harry was relieved at that. But then he wondered if it was because his condition reminded Draco of his father, and then he was sick all over again.

He didn’t remember the rest of the day, but he didn’t want to anyway.

***

The next day Harry felt better. Draco said he needed to open the shop for a couple hours, so Harry had tagged along. They walked down the cobblestones together and Draco pointed out little things as they took the long way there. “That’s an indian fig,” he said. “This is lavender.” “A rare wiggentree disillusioned as begonias.” 

Harry had never cared much for herbology even at Hogwarts, but he was beginning to enjoy the way the Mediterranean breeze smelled sweeter than London fog when he breathed it in.

When they got to the shop Draco asked if he wanted to disillusion himself. Harry shrugged. He was in Italy, right? Would anyone actually recognize him?

Draco pursed his lips and said, “They still have newspapers in this country, you know,” and that’s when Harry knew that Draco knew about Ginny.

Harry felt a flame of anger. And then he let it go.

“That’s fine. Figure you could do with some publicity anyway,” he teased, and then he grinned, surprising himself.

Draco rolled his eyes. He went down into the backroom and wheeled out a couple of boxes of potions to unpack. Harry took a box Hiccoughing Solution and slid them one by one on to the shelf. When he finished with that, he moved on to the box of Murtlap Essence.

“Are you ready to go?” Draco asked after a couple of hours.

Harry jerked up from where he dozed off on the counter. It was already dark outside.

They walked to a small osteria where Draco ordered grilled octopus with pasta and ate it in neat little bites. Harry fed some seagulls scraps of his dinner, but he couldn’t remember exactly what he ordered.

Afterward they had sat on Draco’s red lily print sofa together. Draco was reading a Muggle book that he said was about “bullfighters, and nothing else in particular”. Harry didn’t bring any books from London with him, so he stared off into the black moonlit sea until he stopped remembering.

***

They were at the shop again when Ron walked in.

Harry whipped around in shock, but Draco didn’t look surprised at all.

“Err - sorry,” Ron said. He sheepishly scruffed the back of his head. “Hermione sent me. She said she couldn’t talk much sense into you the last time she was here.”

“She was here? When?” Harry accused angrily. He couldn’t explain why he felt so angry.

“Sorry - sorry, I’m just the messenger, mate -” Ron said, putting both hands up. “Err but, really? She was just here yesterday. You don’t remember?”

Harry whirled around and redirected his accusations onto Draco. Draco pursed his lips, and said, “I’ll give you two some privacy.” 

“Don’t. Stay.” Harry commanded. He watched Draco walk to the back corner of the room and cross his arms, but he stayed.

Satisfied, Harry faced Ron again. He ran a hand through his hair. “You know how my memory is.”

“All right then, I’ll fill you in,” Ron said with forced cheer. “So, you know, you’ve been on holiday for about two weeks now. And we’ve not heard from you at all. And I know, you’re a grown adult at all, but you know, Hermione - she worries. Cuz she has a big heart n all,” he smiled fondly, talking about his wife, “So when we saw those Prophet stories about you she took the first Portkey out here to make sure you were okay. Because, err -” he gave Draco a sympathetic look, “She really worries too much.”

“Okay,” Harry said. He really hadn’t been able to focus well. And he thought he had been doing so well. He could name all the plants around town now. He could tell you what Draco had for dinner every day last week. 

“So she came, and she saw that I was fine. What are you doing here then?”

“Well, you two got into a hell of a row,” Ron said to his shoes. He sighed for a long time before looking back up at Harry. “Harry, mate. Be honest with me. Are we bothering you?”

“Of course not,” Harry said instinctively. But all he could think of was how great of a day it was before Ron showed up.

“All right then,” Ron nodded. He looked resigned. He snuck a glance at Draco, who gave him a tight nod. Then he muttered, “I’ll see you around then, mate. Have a good holiday. Love you,” and walked back out the door.

Harry had wanted to confront Draco right then, but they had a rush of customers, so it wasn’t until later that night after a forgettable dinner that they were finally able to talk about it again. 

“She was wondering when you were planning on coming back to work,” Draco explained, one hand cradling a glass of red wine. “She didn’t like that you just left like that. She thought maybe you were trying to disappear, for good.”

They were sitting on opposite ends of the red lily print sofa again. Harry had his feet on the seat, his knees gathered against his chest. 

“She’s so fucking nosy,” Harry said.

“Yeah, I remember you telling her that. She was so mad she shattered two entire shelves of Dreamless Sleep. You should have seen her face, she looked absolutely horrified, like it was the absolute naughtiest thing she’d ever done,” Draco laughed.

“Yeah, well, I can assure you she’s done worse,” Harry smirked, remembering their Hogwarts days sneaking around under his Invisibility Cloak.

“Pansy was nosy too. It took me years to convince her that I was okay on my own out here. But now I’ve got her down to quarterly visits,” Draco said in that carefully casual tone that Harry was starting to associate with vulnerability.

“Who else do you see?” Harry asked.

“My mother. Greg. Blaise, sometimes. I’ve met some people here too. You’ve met them, too.” Draco trailed off, sounding distracted. It didn’t really matter, because Harry didn’t remember those people anyway.

“Listen, Potter -”

“You can call me Harry,” Harry said, surprising the both of them. Something must have shifted between them in the last two weeks so that Harry now intuitively trusted him, even though he’d no direct memory of the reason behind his change of heart.

Draco smiled again. “Alright, Harry then. I’ve just finished bottling up the latest revision of my Focus Potion. Do you want to try it now?”

Harry nodded so Draco went to the kitchen to bring the vial in from the Keep-Cool Cabinet. He handed it to Harry, who downed it in one gulp. It tasted like grape juice.

Harry felt his focus hone in instantly. He felt more than saw Draco climb back on the sofa. He took in the shine of Draco’s soft hair, his favorite white linen button down. He unconsciously edged toward him.

“Harry?” Draco asked. “What are you feeling?”

Harry shushed him. He scooted over so that their thighs touched. And then he focused his attention back on Draco’s face again. There were light sun freckles under his eyes - how had he missed them before? Draco’s eyes blinked and Harry felt it as though his lashes had fluttered like a breeze through Harry’s whole body. His focus traveled down to Draco’s lips. He put a finger on them and tugged them down gently. And then he tangled another hand through Draco’s silky long hair and pulled him in for a kiss. He felt like he was on fire. He could focus on everything, all at once. The way Draco’s lips moved against his, the faint smell of salt, the sour taste of wine. He’d never felt so alive.

And then Draco was roughly shoving him away and forcing a potion down his throat. When he caught his breath, he looked to Draco to explain.

“Just gave you the antidote. I must’ve messed up the potion,” Draco mumbled. “I’m really sorry. I’ll try again. I have ideas.”

Harry laughed. He was still riding the high of the potion. “That felt bloody good. You made a great potion. I won’t mind another go.”

***

Harry still wanted to touch Draco long after the potion had worn off. He couldn’t explain the feeling, exactly. It wasn’t sexual. It was more like he had suddenly realized that he was very cold, and he knew that touching Draco made him warm again. So the next day when they were walking down to the dock again, he staggered his steps, bumping shoulders with Draco when he could. When Draco didn’t stop him, he pressed his thigh against Draco’s as they laid back on the deck of the boat. It was another beautiful day. Harry dozed off.

When he awoke he felt as though he had slept for years. He had curled a thigh over Draco’s waist, his chest resting softly on Draco’s shoulder. Draco’s heart beat evenly under him, still asleep.

When Draco opened his eyes, Harry tried to kiss him. But Draco turned his face away so he only caught his cheek. Harry had felt a bit hurt at that, but he got over it quickly. Even though Draco wasn’t okay with kissing, he was ok with everything else. And that was already infinitely better than what he had before, alone, in London. 

After that, Harry found any excuse he could to touch Draco. He’d brush their fingers together over vials. He’d sling an arm over Draco’s shoulders on the sofa. He’d tangle their feet together under tables. And although his intentions were obvious, Draco never stopped him. So then he took to climbing into Draco’s bed too, just to sleep. 

He realized one day that he could always focus if he touched Draco. That’s how he’d been able to remember waking up every day last week, even though some specific parts of the day still slipped from him.

He revealed this to Draco on the red lily print sofa the next day. Draco was excited. He said, “I know what’s wrong with the potion now. I know how to fix you.” And Harry felt happy too, that Draco was so excited. But Harry had stopped thinking of himself as broken at this point. He was happy now, so wasn’t he fixed?

And then he realized - if Draco thought he had fixed Harry, wouldn’t Harry have to forgive him? And then after, wouldn’t Draco leave?

Harry couldn’t let Draco leave, so he didn’t confess that he’d already been fixed. Instead he entwined Draco’s fingers with his and leaned in so that their shoulders touched.

***

Pansy arrived the next day. She showed up by Floo when Draco was in the shower and Harry was sitting on the sofa in front of the fireplace, wondering why you needed a fireplace in such a temperate place as Vernazza. Neither had been expecting the other.

Or did Draco tell him, and he had just forgotten?

“What are you doing here,” Pansy demanded.

Harry didn’t know how to respond to that. He didn’t live here, not officially anyway. Draco had never actually invited him. One day he’d just forced his way in. And now it’d been weeks. Or had it been months?

Fortunately for the both of them, Draco walked out of the shower then, fully clothed, a towel over his hair.

“Pansy!” Draco beamed. She was expected, then.

“Draco, darling,” she moved in to kiss him on the cheek. And then she stepped back and crossed her arms. She threw Harry a dirty look. “Explain yourself.”

“He’s on holiday,” Draco said as though it explained everything.

Harry desperately needed to touch Draco then, to show Pansy that he was allowed. So he stood up and walked up to Draco, just to lean on him.

“Draco, darling, please,” Pansy said, exasperated. “Everyone’s seen the papers. As your oldest friend, don’t I deserve some honesty?”

“What’s in the papers?” Harry piped up, curious. He had forgotten that newspapers were a thing, really. He had thought of Vernazza as some sort of Unplottable paradise. And then he realized - he could keep it that way, actually if he just didn’t read the papers.

“Never mind actually, I don’t want to know,” Harry said.

“The papers are saying you’re - together,” she bit out.

“He just - he just needs my help,” Draco stammered out. “But I’m close. I’ve almost got the potion right. I’ve almost got it right this time.”

Harry draped an arm over Draco and leveled Pansy with a wary look. She felt like the enemy. But then her face crumbled, as though she understood something in Draco’s words that Harry couldn’t. She wanted so badly to make it better for Draco that she started crying, so Harry let Draco go, so Draco could tell her that he was okay, and that she needn’t worry.

Watching them felt like watching himself on the hearth with Hermione so many times in the past, so he let them be even though he was jealous. He went to take a shower or something, to be honest he couldn’t remember exactly what he did. He just knew that he ended up in Draco’s bed with his arms tight and possessive around Draco’s waist.

***

Pansy followed them everywhere. She was with them at the shop. She was with them on their walks and always made them take the short way. She sat with them on the boat, wearing a large, floppy hat; conjured wine glass perpetually in hand. But Draco seemed to like her fussing over him, so Harry put up with her. It helped that she hadn’t said a word about their touching since the first night, so Harry carried on thumbing Draco’s ankle, or laying a head in his lap.

On her third night there, Draco pulled Harry to their usual arrangement on the sofa and said that the latest potion was ready. Harry downed it, tasting peaches. A wave of clarity swept through him. For a wild moment he thought Draco had actually done it - he had been fixed. And then it all came crashing down.

Harry had never hurt so much before. 

“What did you do to me,” he yelled, his words coming out in heaving sobs. His chest felt so heavy he couldn’t move.

Draco’s hands went to his, grasped them instantly. “Tell me what you feel,” he said.

“I’m so angry I want to die.”

“What -”

Pansy walked in then, and Harry screamed at her, keeling back, trying to escape. Draco lunged at him, holding him down on the sofa.

“You better go,” Harry heard Draco say to Pansy, and for one soaring second Harry felt good - he felt chosen, happy - before the guilt crushed down on him again. He was destroying one of the few friendships Draco still had. He was ruining Draco’s life.

Draco’s attention was on him again. “Harry. Harry,” he was saying. “Look at me. Tell me what you’re feeling. I want to know. Please.”

“I feel awful,” Harry said. “I feel like I’ve ruined so many lives. I feel like I’m no better than Voldemort” - he felt so nauseous he had to pause - “Merlin, please - give me the antidote, make it stop - ”

“You’re doing so well,” Draco murmured. He traced small circles into the soft underside of Harry’s wrists. And Harry did feel better then, until he remembered that Draco was only doing this because Harry had basically forced him. And then he really did puke then, right on Draco’s coffee table.

Draco cleaned it off with a flick of his wand, his eyes never leaving Harry’s. “Tell me what you’re feeling.”

“I feel like you’re only here because I forced you to be -”

“I’m not. I’m here because I care about you.”

“But you can’t, you can’t care -”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ve hurt you. I refused to be friends with you. I left scars on your chest. I yelled at you and forced you to fix me -”

“What? None of that matters. I’ve done so much worse to you.”

“That’s not how it fucking works! You can’t just do things and have them cancel out other things. Just because Voldemort died doesn’t mean anyone’s death was worth it -” Harry’s voice broke. “Fuck, Draco - just give me the antidote. Please -”

Draco held out a purple vial. Harry snatched it and downed it so fast his grip cracked the glass. He could feel his mind shifting again, like the tides. When he came back Draco was staring down at him, as though afraid to touch him.

Harry pulled Draco onto his lap. He nuzzled the crook of Draco’s neck, breathing in sea salt and sweat. “What did you do to me?” he asked, his voice still a rasp.

Draco leaned into him. He sounded exhausted. “It was supposed to help you focus on yourself. So you can focus on your own life again. But it was too much, all at once. I shouldn’t have pushed - it was too much. I should have known. I have some new ideas though… I have a plan.”

Harry nipped at Draco’s ear. He stroked Draco’s chest, focused on Draco’s heart beating with his. “Okay,” he said, “I trust you.”

***

The next day Harry awoke to shouting in the living room.

“- don’t understand why I can’t just pop over -”

“He’s not ready -”

“I don’t care! You clearly have no idea what you’re doing, I’m not going to just leave my best friend’s life in the hands of an amateur potions enthusiast!”

“Stop. Please, ‘Mione. I love Harry too, but I think we have to trust him - ”

“Oh do you love him? Then where were you when Ginny left him - ”

Harry walked into the living room. Draco was standing behind the red lily print sofa, his shoulders hunched. Ron and Hermione’s faces were twin jades in the fireplace.

Harry felt his anger flame.

“We’ll talk to you later,” Draco said, moving first and extinguishing the call. He walked to Harry and led him by the wrist into the kitchen, where he shoved a cup of espresso into his hands.

“I was thinking of going fishing today,” Draco said before Harry could think of anything else. “There’ve been shrake sightings along the coast, closer to Riomaggiore. I’m running low on shrake spines, and I figure we can roast the rest for dinner. What do you think?”

“Sounds great,” Harry said.

They loaded the cooler with bait and drinks and ham sandwiches for lunch, and carried it between them down the familiar cobblestone streets to the dock. Harry scrambled onto the boat to coat the boat with anti-rust and anti-slip spells while Draco raised the anchor and motored them out to the sea.

Harry lounged on the deck as Draco drove them far out, further than they usually went for kelp or starfish. From the open sea Harry could make out other small towns doting the coastline much like his own. He briefly wondered who lived there, before he remembered that he didn’t really care.

While Draco busied himself with setting up the fishing lines, Harry tapped his wand against the boat’s built-in Muggle radio until he charmed it to play Fleetwood Mac on repeat.

“I love this boat,” he sighed, pressing his shoulder against Draco’s as they sat on the deck and waited for the fish to bite. He looked out at the endless sea and waited for his thoughts to fall off at the horizon into nothing.

After a while, Draco said, “You’re not forcing me to do anything,” sounding ever so carefully casual. “I care about you. I want to help you.”

Harry tensed beside him. He craned his neck to look at Draco, at his set jaw, his stony eyes. “But I’ve hurt you.”

“Yes. Yes you did.”

Even though Harry had been expecting those words, it still stung, even more than it usually did, to hear them said out loud.

But Draco continued - “I thought about what you said last night. About how just because you’ve saved my life it doesn’t make up for the fact that you’ve hurt me too. Like with Vincent. You saved me and Greg from something that Vincent unleashed to kill you. But I shouldn’t deny that you still hurt me. Because if you hadn’t been so good at saving the world then maybe Vincent wouldn’t have needed to try to kill you and then he wouldn’t have died. He was a stupid boy but I was stupid too and I had loved him.”

“I wanted to save him,” Harry rasped, “I-”

Draco looked up at Harry, grasped his fingers as Harry felt a numbing come over him. And then Draco carried on, in that light, strained voice. “I hope you never get over how Vincent died. But I also want you to know that I’ve long forgiven you for it, because I know you’ve grown from it, and that you’ll carry Vincent with you forever, just the way I will.”

One of the lines bit then, so Harry had a moment to himself while Draco pulled in the shrake and reset the line.

When Draco came back to him, Harry said, “So you’re saying you forgive me.”

“Yes.”

“And that you don’t think I ruined your life.”

“Yes.”

“And that you don’t hate me.”

“Yes, Harry. I care about you so much. I want to help you so much -”

“But you won’t kiss me.”

“I -” Draco looked away.

Harry pulled Draco in between his legs. “Why?”

“It’ll complicate things.”

Harry barked out a laugh. “What about this has been uncomplicated?”

“I mean. When we’re out here on the boat, just the two of us, it’s so lovely. But when we go back to shore, you won’t need to ship anything home, you won’t even need to pack - you can just take a Portkey straight back to London and nothing will change. But if I let you kiss me, then, I couldn’t go back - I’m being selfish, really.”

Harry thought Draco was being ridiculous. A kiss wasn’t so much different than holding hands, or sleeping together. But he was familiar with delusions himself. He thought back on the last six years of believing that Ginny could fix him, if he could just make her happy.

Harry thought of Ginny and her Gryffindor red suitcase, and how easily it had been for her to detangle from his life. Harry was beginning to think that what he actually wanted was complicated, what he wanted was his life to be so completely entangled with another’s so that they could never be truly apart, so that Harry could be bound to that person forever. Then Harry would never be alone again.

“I couldn’t just go back,” Harry said. “You haven’t fixed me yet.”

“But after I do -”

“After you do, then I’ll owe you, won’t I? Then I’ll have to stick around so I can pay you back.”

Harry was pretty sure he said the wrong thing, because Draco frowned and looked away again. Harry followed Draco’s eyes and saw the tug of a fish on the line. They watched it, until it stilled.

“Why me?” Draco whispered more to the wind than to Harry.

“It’s easier with you. Because you’ve hurt me too. So it’s always felt more balanced. Everyone else - they’ve already done so much for me, and all I’ve done is hurt them. They don’t deserve that. But you also know what it’s like to hurt someone.”

Draco slumped down then, as though all the will in him just gave way. He said, “Yeah, okay.”

“Yeah, okay what?”

“Yeah, you can kiss me,” Draco said, and Harry pulled him close.

They kissed for what felt like hours. Then they took the shrake back to their apartment, and Draco grilled them on their balcony with their overflowing pansies. When Harry awoke the next day he could remember the mellow richness of the shrake, the sweetness of Draco’s mouth on his tongue.

***

The next thing Harry remembered was lunch on the waterfront, Ron sitting across from them.

“You again,” Harry said when he saw him.

“I’ll get the fish and chips, thanks,” Ron told Draco, who translated it into Italian.

“Draco says you went fishing yesterday,” Ron started conversationally. “Sounds nice. I’m jealous. We can’t get on any boats until the baby comes. ‘Mione gets the worst seasickness, and none of the charms seem to work when she’s pregnant.”

Harry kept his mouth shut. So Draco said, “Yes. It was a nice day. I have a potion though, if you and Hermione ever want to -”

“No need, thanks,” Ron put his hands up, “Better to just avoid boats entirely. You’re quite good with potions now, aren’t you?”

“I’ve always been excellent at potions,” Draco said with the slightest echo of his childhood arrogance.

“What’s this one that you’ve been brewing for Harry?”

Small talk. It was what made Ron a good Auror before he quit, Harry remembered. Ron always scored better than Harry at interrogations.

“It’s supposed to help him focus on himself,” Draco said.

“Err - why does Harry need help with that?” Ron replied, flicking a glance at Harry, before joking - “Hermione says all I do is focus on myself. Can you brew me, like, the opposite of that? The antidote, or something?”

“I’m sure you understand that’s not how antidotes work,” Draco said, but he was smiling.

Harry took a bite of his pasta. It was already getting cold.

When he looked back up, Ron was staring at him, unblinking.

“What?” Harry asked.

Ron coughed, looking uncomfortable. “I, err -, look, mate. I forgive you for Ginny. That was not great of you. Mum was really disappointed, you know. Mostly cuz she set her expectations too high. But I did kinda want our kids to be cousins, you know? But then I realized even if we weren’t like, legally brothers, you’re basically my brother so your kids would be my kids’ cousins anyway. So that’s that. Okay, next - Bill’s scar, although I still think he’s making up the whole loving raw steaks thing, I mean seriously? If I could have an excuse to eat raw steak for every meal -”

Draco cleared his throat.

Ron shot him a nervous look, before continuing. “And… Fred. I forgive you for Fred. I mean, I never blamed you from the start, but I kinda get why you’d think you were responsible. It’s - it’s rough, mate. It’s still rough, mate. Working in the joke shop all day with George, wishing Fred was still there - sometimes I think he’s actually there, and then it’s really good - and then I remember - anyway. It’s hard but it’s okay. I’ve moved on but I’m like - I’ll never forget him” - he choked - “He’ll be with me forever, you know.”

Harry reached over the table and put his hand over Ron’s. “I get it,” he said.

“Merlin,” Ron said, his eyes misty. “We really never talked about the war enough, did we? I was just so eager to get on with my life.” He sighed. “Guess we should’ve done this a long time ago.”

They sat in silence.

“Do you remember that time in the Forest of Dean,” Ron started again. “After I had done all those selfish things to you. I thought no way you’d ever forgive a bloke like me. But then, when I finally found you, you were there in that lake, just ready for me to rescue so that I could, you know, properly show you that I had deserved your forgiveness. Sometimes I think if I hadn’t been the one to save you, then you wouldn’t have ever been able to forgive me.”

Harry didn’t realize Ron had felt that way. He didn’t realize Ron thought he had hurt Harry to the point where Harry wouldn’t have been able to forgive him.

But that’s how Harry felt, didn’t he? About everyone else.

“That’s ridiculous,” Harry said, crossing his arms.

Ron grinned then. He took a big bite of his fish and continued - open-mouthed and chewing - “Now you know how I feel, when I had to forgive you for all those things I’ve already long forgiven you for.”

“Yeah,” Harry said. He felt a bit silly. He looked out to the sea. “I wish Hermione was here.”

“You can see her tomorrow,” Ron said. Then he leaned over and twirled a forkful of Harry’s pasta. “This is delicious, mate. Next time I’m getting this. What’s it called, Draco?”

Draco told him.

Afterward, the three of them took the long way down the cobblestone streets to the dock. Harry showed Ron how to operate the radio while Draco steered them out to sea, and then they fished for flying seahorses until the sun set.

***

“You’re here,” Hermione said, as though he weren’t. 

“Sorry,” she smiled, “I just - I thought you’d need more time.”

Harry had thought he’d need more time too. But apparently he’d booked a Portkey later that day, after Ron had left - he didn’t remember booking it, in any case.

Come to think of it, Draco was acting strange that morning too. Usually he’d tell Harry what he was going to do for the day, and Harry would say “that sounds good”. But today he’d spent more time looking into his espresso than drinking it. And then he said, “Your Portkey is in two hours. Ron said he’d meet you on the other side.”

After breakfast Harry had gone to pack, but then he decided he didn’t need to because he was only going for the day anyway, so he had gone out to the balcony and sat in the sun with Draco until it was time to go.

And now he was here, talking to Hermione.

They did their forgiveness dance. Hermione cried a bit, and Harry teared up too. It struck Harry then how much of their lives had been so intrinsically intertwined. The three of them, and Draco too, in his own, parallel way; never with them but always in-step until now, finally, their paths wholly entangled.

Hermione was saying something about work.

“I don’t really want to come back,” he said, carefully casual, “You think that would be okay?”

“Of course that’s okay, Harry. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Hermione said swiftly but firmly, trying her best to convey her support.

Harry thought faintly that she would be a good mother, now that she’d had practice on him.

And then Hermione’s water broke. Harry followed them to St. Mungo’s without a second thought. Molly was the first to arrive in the extended family waiting room. She took one look at Harry and wrapped him up in a weepy hug. Ginny gave him a short nod, the rest of them slapped him on the back. And then he held baby Hugo in his arms.

So Harry ended up staying with Ron and Hermione a few days longer than he had expected, being useful. He read to Rose. He learned how to swaddle Hugo. He made dinner.

“I know this is going to sound strange coming from me, with my history with Divination and all,” Hermione said over lasagna one night, “But it just felt like fate that you made it for Hugo’s birth. I’m so happy you were there. I want you in my life forever. Is that too selfish of me to want?”

Harry felt his throat catch. She shouldn’t need to rely on fate, he thought. She should be able to rely on him to show up at an owl’s notice.

“I’m sorry I’ve been an awful friend,” he said. “I want to promise to never leave again.” But then he thought of Draco, and he knew he would leave her again.

“Oh Harry,” Hermione said tearfully at the same time Ron put a hand on his shoulder.

“We’re not trying to chain you to us, mate, we’ve got plenty of prisoners around these days,” Ron joked, bouncing Hugo on his knee, “We just want you to keep in touch.”

And then Hermione taught him how to use a mobile phone. (“Doesn’t get sidetracked like an owl, and also doesn’t poop - but you do still need to feed it at night,” Ron had enthusiastically endorsed.)

***

The next day, Harry arrived back home in Vernazza, but Draco was gone.

Harry checked the apothecary. He checked the apartment. He checked the osteria, the tailor, the barbershop. He walked up and down the narrow streets, searching and looking and hoping and wishing, until finally he forced himself to take the cobblestone streets down to the dock. It was after sunset. Draco’s boat was absent, of course. It did not come as a surprise to Harry only because it had been his worst fear.

Harry sat at the dock until the next morning. He remembered every wretched second of it. He remembered why he didn’t like remembering. Then he dragged himself back to their - Draco’s - apartment, where he fell on to their - Draco’s - perfectly made bed and tried to forget.

But of course, the next day, he remembered. Because Draco had fixed him.

In their weeks of quiet and comfortable living, it had been so easy to forget how it had all started. But Harry remembered now. He remembered his anger. He remembered how he had told Draco that he didn’t deserve to move on until he had fixed Harry, and Draco had agreed. It all sounded so ridiculous now. How could anyone “fix” anyone? Harry had just been shouting nonsense in his rage, but Draco, in his guilt, had taken it seriously. 

And now that Draco had actually fixed Harry, Harry understood that Draco was broken himself, and that Harry had a hand in breaking him.

Harry needed to find Draco. So he could fix him.

***

Eventually, though, it was Pansy who found him first.

“I know where he is,” she shouted against the Floo wards. It was just after midnight. Harry had been sitting at the table on the balcony, staring out at the black sea. He had been doing it for days, it seemed.

At first he had scoured every publication he could get his hands on, looking for reports of Draco. But after the four days of articles about Harry buying groceries in boxers while Ginny shared manhattans with Viktor Krum, he gave up. Harry now grasped that he could never truly disappear. Not the way Draco could.

So Harry let Pansy in.

“Good grief, Potter, please take a shower,” Pansy sniffed once she’d shaken off the soot. “Have you been wallowing in your own shit since he’s left you?” 

Harry looked up at her. Pansy’s hair was pulled back in a sleek bun, her deep emerald robes neatly pressed. But he saw the redness in the corners of her eyes.

Harry cast a Scourgify on himself.

“Where is he,” he demanded, his voice savage from underuse.

“I saw his boat docked in Naples last night,” Pansy said, her airs thinning into concern. 

Harry watched her warily. Her breathing was heavy and uneven, her eyes glassy. Finally she said, “He wouldn't see me. That’s why I need you. He’d do anything for you.”

Harry didn’t say anything. In the past few days he’d come to terms with Draco’s guilt, and that he’d taken advantage of it.

“Please,” Pansy said. She was leaning against the balcony railing, crushing their - Draco’s - flowers.

“Don’t do that,” Harry snapped.

“What?”

“Don’t lean on the balcony. You’re killing the pansies.”

Pansy jerked away from the balcony. “There are pansies?”

Yes, Harry thought, his heart twisting with jealousy. He grew them for you. Because he loved you. To her he sneered, “How do you not know what your own name looks like?”

“I’m - okay.” She inhaled deeply, visually attempting to restrain herself. “The last time Draco disappeared like this, it was right after his father had passed, and I - we’d - I’d thought we’d lost him. So, please, Potter, I’m imploring you. Please help me get Draco back.”

“I -”

“Don’t make me, I mean, I’d do -”

“Okay,” Harry resigned. He stood up. “Okay, let’s go.”

***

First, they stole a boat.

Then Pansy explained her plan.

“It’s nearly impossible to Apparate over open water. You could miscalculate and drown, for one - and no, Potter, I don’t mean that as a challenge, you stupid Gryffindor, just please listen to me, I have a plan, and I swear by Merlin’s beard, it’s a good plan.”

Harry listened.

Pansy continued, “The Muggle boats are all equipped with this built-in radar contraption that’ll tell you the exact coordinates of nearby boats. So all we need to do is get close to Draco’s boat, and then - pop! You can Apparate on over and slap some sense into him. Or fuck him, or - whatever the nature of your relationship is, honestly I’m not particularly keen on knowing -”

“How would we be able to figure out which boat is his?”

“We’ll know by his navigation movement. Most boats with unpredictable movements are recreational, and they dock by nightfall. The boats that continue on overnight pass through via established routes. But our dearest Draco isn’t trying to go anywhere except shore. So, it’s a bit intuitive, but at night I’ve had a fairly easy time tracking him down. I just wasn’t absolutely sure it was him until I saw him dock last night.” 

Harry was impressed. It was not a bad plan, and Harry was used to Hermione-grade plans (see: the incident with Sirius, Buckbeak, and a Time-Turner). There was only one flaw. “What if he doesn’t want to talk?”

Pansy narrowed her eyes. “Are you really going to coerce me into confessing out loud how much I loathe that he trusts you more than he trusts me? Because, believe me, I loathe you. I loathe you and your ugly, unworthy scar. I loathe that -”

“Okay, you can stop. I get it.” He knew he had been unworthy. But now he’d been given an opportunity to prove otherwise.

Harry turned his attention back to the radar display, and felt strangely reminiscent of sixth year, a substantial portion of which he'd spent looking for Draco’s dot on his Marauder's Map.

“It’s personal,” Pansy muttered in the silence. She cleared her throat. “I mean to say, I only abhor you personally. I’m obviously quite sorry that I suggested handing you over to You-Know-Who in sixth year. I think it was all for the best, actually, with you lot winning and all. Although I wasn’t convinced of it at the time. So, thanks, I suppose, and sorry.”

“That’s - err, you’re welcome,” Harry mumbled after Pansy’s awkward apology had hung between them for longer than he could bear.

Pansy uncrossed her arms, looking relieved but still rather cross. “I still despise you, just to be clear.”

“Yeah, I know.” Harry almost smiled. He felt the heave of the sea carrying their stolen boat forward, and willed it to move faster.

***

Pansy shook him awake under the light of the encroaching dawn. Harry rose at once, his wand clenched.

“Wait,” Pansy said, before whispering a few incantations over him.

Harry felt his mind cleared, his hair combed, his beard trimmed. He gave Pansy a look.

“Might as well put our best foot forward,” Pansy shrugged with a calculated nonchalance that echoed Draco’s own careful casualness.

Slytherins, Harry thought, before landing behind the helm of their - Draco’s - boat. Harry looked out. Draco was standing at the bow of the boat, his hands clasped behind him, his gaze firmly on the rising sun. Harry hurried on to the bow.

“Draco,” Harry said over the waves.

Draco snapped around. His long hair whipped behind him, looking so unkempt that for a moment Harry mistook him for his father.

“How’d you -”

“Pansy,” Harry offered weakly. “She said you didn’t want to be seen. Listen - I’m sorry. I’ve been awful, demanding you bear the responsibility of my own personal failures, demanding that you perform the impossible task of fixing me, and you fixed me anyway. So I guess, this goes -”

“Shut -”

“This goes without saying, but - I forgive you, and I’m so grateful. You’ve really gone and fixed me. I really owe you one -”

“SHUT UP! Just bloody shut up, Harry - I don’t want to hear about how you owe me, I don’t want anyone to owe me anything, so if you’re just popping by from London to settle a debt please do me a favor and fuck right off."

Harry shut up. He didn’t know what more to say, and what he already said had clearly hurt Draco. Harry wasn’t here to settle a debt. He was here to fix Draco, and the forgiveness bit had fixed Harry, so he had just assumed that it would fix Draco too. But Draco wasn’t Harry; in fact, it felt like Draco had spent most of their boyhood trying to be the exact opposite of Harry.

Harry focused on Draco. He focused on the warmth behind Draco’s mouth, the softness behind his ears. He focused on Draco in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom, Draco at the top of the stairs of the Astronomy Tower, Draco behind him on Harry’s broom coughing in the smoke of the Fiendfyre. He focused on Draco standing before him on the bow of their boat at sea, and how no matter the way, he always found Draco in the end.

“I’m here for you.” Harry took a step forward.

“I - Why?”

Harry took another step forward. “Because I care about you.” Because he wanted to start every day with Draco’s long legs entwined with his, the faint sweetness of yesterday curled pleasantly in his memories.

Draco shook his head. “You hate me.”

Another step. “I changed my mind.”

Draco laughed softly. “Just like that?”

Harry smiled back. “It took some time.” He was standing close enough to see both the hesitation and the hope in Draco’s downcast eyes. “What about you? Do you still hate me?”

“My father always said changing your mind showed weakness,” Draco said as though to himself, “But lately my mother’s been saying that I need to accept when my mind’s already been changed.” He looked at Harry then, his mouth crooked in a shy smile so soft and vulnerable that Harry felt he was seeing Draco for the first time all over again. He wanted to take Draco home, to their apartment, where he’d be safe. He wanted to fold Draco down on his lap and have him only for himself.

It suddenly struck Harry that his recent absence could have hurt Draco more than any lingering life debt between them. Draco might have thought he was never coming back.

“I’m sorry I didn’t owl when I’d be back. I’ll owl next time.”

“There’s no need, I’m not -”

“But I’m back now. I’ll never not come back,” Harry shouldered on.

Draco was silent then. Harry prayed he understood what Harry was trying to say. That somehow in the weeks or months under the sun and on the sea, Draco had become home, the first home that was truly only Harry’s -

“So,” Draco said, his voice rough with emotion, “Won’t you come home with me then?” 

Harry leaned in and closed the gap between them.

**Author's Note:**

> This was a story set in Vernazza and the Mediterranean Sea, because I miss the sea so incredibly much these days. 
> 
> Some Notes on Focusing:  
> * Harry has trouble focusing on his day-to-day life because he would start thinking about the war instead, and would tune out large parts of the day because he'd be thinking about the war instead. When he isn't consumed by guilt over the war, his memory operates normally.  
> * Draco's first potion revision made Harry focus intensely on what was in front of him. So he had focused on Draco, and the result was similar to a love potion where you feel all senses intensely all at once. So like... weed. But better because it's magical.  
> * Draco's second potion revision made Harry focus on himself. But when he focused on himself, because he had no personal wants, all there was to focus on was the intense guilt he felt about the war. It was too much at once. An equivalent Muggle experience would be a bad shrooms trip, where you're forced to deal with all your insecurities all at once. You feel better after, but there are many less painful ways to deal with your insecurities.  
> * I think it may have been best if Harry had just gone to therapy. But then I won't have this story.
> 
> Thank you for taking the time to read!


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